


Wet Silk

by Syriacus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Revenge, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:56:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syriacus/pseuds/Syriacus
Summary: The best revenge for a budding socialite is public humiliation.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Original Male Character(s), Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Wet Silk

White silk. The dress was miles of white silk and lace and all the things little girls dream of for their princess wedding.

It was lovely really, just not the bride. Well, Pansy ran a finger along the stiff neckline of her (putrid) green bridesmaid dress, she was probably gorgeous to every other guest in the unnecessary massive ceremony hall. Because Daphne Greengrass - or is it Daphne Parkinson, now? - is a 25 year old slim natural blonde with pink pouty lips. She's just about the very vision of a perfectly groomed lady.

And now, after that tedious march down the aisle, beautiful Daphne was her new stepmother. Nevermind that they went to school together and used to trade organic snacks between classes; no, apparently all Mr. Parkinson needed was one terse argument with her mother and a nicely buzzed high school reunion to crash and there we go! Pansy was mercifully granted the opportunity to catch her father fucking her childhood friend in his Porsche.

It took a year for the divorce to finally be settled, but she knew every time she looked into her mom's eyes that it would be much longer for the aftershocks to stop ringing in her shattered heart. And she loves her mom. Only her mom.

Can you say, 'crisis'?

So yes, it was her turn to give a speech on the wonders of being 2 months older than her mommy dearest and hell, she'd had just enough to drink to be painfully candid. And she'd been just evil enough to play nice until now so she'd finally get this chance.

The mic felt heavy against her palm and a polite silence fell about the tables. A second before she spoke, the raven-haired woman shot a sharp grin at the oh-so-fairytale couple. She was sure shivers went down her father's spine. Pansy cleared her throat.

"Dearly detested, we are gathered here today to celebrate the wedding of my wonderful, disgustingly spoiled daddy and his dazzling whore bride. Oh no, that came out wrong - I mean absolutely no offense to the sexually active - but maybe don't fuck your daughter's friend in a well lit area? Anyhow," behind the shocked guffaw, she heard clamoring for the mic to be cut but too late, she'd taken precautions.

"I think it's immensely heartwarming that you had the nerve to cheat on the most understanding, kindest woman who dared to deal with your bullshit, Father. It's true love to lose everything to gain a hot piece of ass half your age. I get it, bravo! And Daphne-" Pansy smiled sweetly at the bride, who was beginning to look quite pale unfortunately. "-when you said you wanted to marry rich and live happily every after, I had no idea you meant to destroy a family in the process! You overachiever! But don't toast to that, darling, drinking is bad for the baby!"

Pouting, she rubbed her stomach, much to the very visible horror of the couple and audible scandal of the audience.

"Well, I see I may have overstayed my gracious welcome, so to wrap things up! Fuck you, Dad, you're a dirty cheating man-whore of an embarrassment! And Step-mommy?"

Pansy raised her champagne glass, "You have horrible taste, and he'll trash you the moment you turn 30. Congrats!"

With that, she felt like a vindictive goddess, the awed silence and screeching sobs of lovely Daphne enveloping her like a holy shroud.

Oh God, that felt so good. Her heels clicked, echoing on the marble floor, Pansy slung her purse over her shoulder before shooting one last smug glance at the chaos that'd erupted behind her.

Her legs carried her past the heavy oak doors, past the pretentious glitter balloons and regrettably glamorous party favors, into the waiting arms of her mother.

"What are you doing here?" the daughter rasped, hot tears finally hitting her as months of pent-up rage poured through her body.

"Well," former Mrs. Parkinson laughed quietly, "I had a feeling. After all, you _are_ my kid."

A man coughed beside them, holding up the remnants of an independent sound system. He grinned an accomplice grin.

"Harry also told me," her mom admitted.

"Thought you might need a hug."

Pansy rolled her eyes, despite the relief at realizing that yes, she did. And suddenly, screaming burst from the chamber behind them. Her boyfriend's smirk grew even wider.

"I messed with the sprinklers. You know, revenge is a dish best served cold," Harry snickered past his growing smugness.

"Corny."

~

A week later, one-third of the Golden Trio pranced ("I do not _prance_ ," he grimaced at his girlfriend) into his apartment to find a newspaper clipping framed proudly on the kitchen wall.

 _HUMILIATION_ , it read, _FOR NEW LORD AND LADY PARKINSON_ \- with the very loveliest image of Daphne nee Greengrass drenched, mascara-running, and absolutely, inconsolably, oh-so-satisfyingly shrieking at a rather pathetic Mr. Parkinson.

"Gotta hand it to you, Potter," Pansy chimed in from the table, "the waterworks were a nice touch."


End file.
